Chapter Seven

There was a crash...….. a shatter...…and blood, so much blood. Looking down at my hands I stared down in disbelief about the events that had just unfolded before me. What I can and cannot remember. I can remember yelling, screaming actually, coming from another room. I was in the attic, reading a book with a name I can't remember, when I heard shattering and then screaming. My first instincts were not to bolt up and check on the origin or the sound, but rather to wait and see if it was a scream of terror or a scream of frustration. When the second scream pierced the quiet air I knew that it wasn't my mother yelling out of hatred towards me.

Shaking, I open the attic hatch and slowly climb down the stairs. I hesitate when I approach the middle of the staircase. My breathing stopped when I heard another crash coming from the living room and the voices that followed.

" Please, I don't have the money right now but if yo-"the sharp sound of a hand hitting flesh filled the air. I could taste the bile building in my throat as I thought, She told me that she quite taking drugs since we moved for this exact same reason.

"I've already given you a week long than most people because I like that pretty face of yours, it would be a shame for my to destroy something that I admire just to make a point, dear." the man said through a low snarl in his voice.

I finally make it to the bottom of the staircase and softly patter along the wall separating the entrance from the living and stop just short of entering the the living room itself. As I peak over the edge of the wall I see my mother on the floor, hunched over, holding her face in her hands as tears stream down her face. This was the first time I'd ever seen my mother look so small and weak when it came to her interacting with others.

Anger was taking hold of me. Tinges of red covered the corners of my vision, causing me to hyper-focus on the man cowardly hovering over a defenseless woman, in her own home. I can feel my nails cut into my skin as I clinch my fist in rage and hold myself back from revealing my presence to either other them.

Am I willing to risks anything for the woman who on one hand gave birth to me, but on the other hand, treats her own daughter like less than the dirt under her feet? Am I willing to let this stranger of a man come into my home and belittle a woman who was in no shape to defend herself from a man twice her size? I can't remember what happened next. I only have flashes, even now, of what happened that night in the living room of my mother's house. I can remember screams....crashes....red vision.....anger.....and blood. So much blood.